


what happens when the peach wilts?

by 2umino



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Drabble, Kakashi Meta, Meta, Metafiction, Other, Sad Hatake Kakashi, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:13:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2umino/pseuds/2umino
Summary: kakashi hated waking up.





	what happens when the peach wilts?

          Kakashi hated waking up. Sentimental smile on his naked face, Kakashi opened his kaleidoscopic eyes daintily, pinpricks of an honest sun kissing the breath of his eyelashes. His mother’s compassionate lips on his forehead made him sigh refreshingly, an innocent wedge of childish warmth curdling in the bottom of his stomach. The soft-knitted blankets swaddled around him beckoned his dog-tired eyes to fall back into a sphere of accompaniment until the boisterous laugh of his father sent a teasing bolt of lightning up the root of his spine. The smell of grilled fish and the beginnings of miso moistened his mouth, and he tried to mutter a heartfelt greeting of endearment to his mother, but she slipped away before he could move his bitten tongue. Kakashi felt the fuzzy skin of a peach on the roof of his mouth, longed for the taste of the juicy nectarine he handpicked from his neighbor’s relentlessly powerful orchard. He breathed in, and the skeleton of his home wrapped him in a soothing embrace. The fervent yips and howls of the family dog at his father’s loud, kind-hearted voice made Kakashi laugh easily as he set his feet on the floor resting beside his futon.  
          The dull buzz of electricity idly reverberating in the furnace at Kakashi’s tailbone abruptly roused—a taloned set of lightning bolts dispatching distress signals to every nerve in his body. Nimble fingers trembled with hypothermic tendencies and trauma as the faux potluck of falsified memories began to tarnish, and the lazy, reassuring gift of home and human presence he had draped over his heart was suddenly squeezing the vital organ as hard as it could, underlings of abandonment in its malicious hold. The air was too cold for him to breathe in; the blanket, as hard as sheet metal, did little to warm his frostbitten skin. The smell of grilled fish turned sour, the delicious taste of juicy produce wilted on his tongue, and suddenly the vineyards of his neighbor’s orchard was shoving its wicked thorns down his throat, and the skeleton of his home was crushing his windpipe. The exuberant caricature of his father’s excitement was sickeningly stamped out. The family dog hadn’t even offered a whimper, and Kakashi suddenly didn’t feel the scar of his mother’s lips on his forehead. Kakashi felt nothing warm. He closed his variegated eyes feverishly, trying to protect himself from the repulsive reality violently gripping the nape of his neck. Kakashi desperately tried not to remember that his bed was cold, and the piercing silence of the night wasn’t lingering outside his window. He tried not to remember that his father was a victim of shinobi politics, the bittersweet relief of death, and his own blood familiar hands. He tried not to remember that he never met his mother. He tried not to remember that he didn’t own a dog. With a sigh that made the marrow in his bone standstill, Kakashi did not dare to open his eyes and feel the pungent breath of the moon’s rotting mouth on his eyelashes. He laid back down, a grueling frown on his face. Kakashi hated waking up.


End file.
